


Yellow Fever

by iamtheletter13



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Androgyny, Bisexuality, Crossdressing, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Apocalypse, Religious Conflict, Rough Sex, S&M, Threesome - F/M/M, Twincest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheletter13/pseuds/iamtheletter13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ravaged by a disease known as the Yellow Fever, and society collapses.  Timothy and Sarah, twins who have lived in poverty for most of their lives, find shelter in a fenced-in community known as the Ministry.  It is led by a priest, but there's something sinister behind his façade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Ministry

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a little drabble in my gender-confused faze, which also happened to coincide with my Catholic schooling. I was going through my old material, and I thought that it was a good plot, so I re-wrote it, and here it is. It turned out much, much different from the original. Most of the warnings are for future chapters. Let me know what you think~

It started with what was largely considered a common cold. It seemed like everybody was afflicted at once, but no one paid much attention to a busy cold season. It happened too quickly for the CDC to do anything about it. People were dropping dead, the disease having attacked their liver and shut down their entire bodies.  
It seemed like it only took weeks for it to happen. People were alive; sneezing and coughing, then the whites of their eyes became discolored and their skin went from normal to sickly, then they all died. Those days were horrifying. It was better for me and my twin; we had been living on our own since our early childhood, we adjusted to the riots and the fear better than most. Sarah and I never left each other’s side, stealing from government outposts who shot into the crowds of starving people, sneaking away from parties of fear-crazed once-people.  
We were moving from our home in a breaking down warehouse outside Chicago, looking for shelter that could better protect us from the approaching winter when we saw the Ministry. It had once been some kind of military base, with massive brick walls and two sets of steel gates separating it from the dying world on the outside. There were crowds of people surrounding it, shivering in the mid-autumn chill, waiting for admittance.  
Sarah suggested that we stay and see what they were waiting for, so I built a little shelter in the surrounding woods, my sister staring restlessly at the towering structure as I constructed rabbit traps and little tools. We stayed there for about a week, and none of the people moved at all, waiting for entrance and not even getting recognition for their tireless efforts. Some of them starved, others froze to death in the night, and I developed a searing hatred for whoever ran that dreadful place.  
“We should leave.” I suggested after the ninth day of waiting, sharpening a willow branch with my machete, and she snapped away from her watch.  
“Nonsense. We’re fine here.” There was resolve in her emerald eyes, messy red hair moving with the chilled breeze.  
We looked the same. The only real difference was her hint of femininity and an inch gained on my part during puberty, but at first glance, we were both genderless-looking shadows of people. Our pale skin, our freckled faces, our copper hair that was always crudely chopped short to avoid matting, made us practically indistinguishable. Even our figures gave nothing away; the starvation that had been a never-ending threat throughout our childhood made it so that my muscles didn’t bulk up in a masculine way, that her breasts and hips and curves maintained their girlish, flat characteristics.  
We were an unmoving pair, Sarah and Timothy, the thieving little brats, gone from pitifully poor children to no-good punks in the years between childhood and adulthood. We were only sixteen, and had already been jailed three times, stealing to survive because nobody would let a couple of delinquents run their store or flip their burgers.  
Our parents were the beginning of it. It was hard to eat with a strung-out mother and a father who only came home to beat her senseless. We were invisible, the children who just happened to live there, shrugging off their negligence and thanking that our father didn’t turn his malicious attentions towards us. We fished through trash cans, never went to school, managed bits and pieces of bread from the local church. We learned how to steal, that people were careless around children, that a little bit of smooth talking could convince anyone to lend a hand, and became the geniuses we were from then on.  
It didn’t matter in the new world, though. Our skills kept us from dying, but we were still hungry, still relied on other human beings for the rest of our needs. It had been so long since a good shower, often offered to us at the public pool or a kind old woman’s house in return for yard work, yearning for a warm bed we managed at AA clubs or homeless shelters. We were both craving the old comforts, however fleeting they may have been before. The Ministry had those promises painted on the walls, evident in the way the people waited until they were overcome with need and left the face of the planet. I could tell that Sarah was hoping that it would have what she had always wanted, what I had always wanted but would never admit. A home.  
She nudged me with a bony elbow, and I looked up from the pigeon that I was plucking to see the crowd dispersing. Sarah was on her feet in seconds, taking off towards the door without so much as a warning, bare feet pattering softly on the fallen pine needles on the ground. I sighed and followed after her, catching up then speeding along with her. We were in the crowd in what seemed like seconds, pushing past people wrapped in more clothing than we needed, two copper dots in a sea of grey.  
There were soldiers at the gates, shining flashlights into bloodshot eyes. Some people were ushered through the first gate, into the massive sanctuary, others were wrenched back into the crowd, flailing and screaming with the threat of death. I held onto Sarah’s hand, both of us refusing to be yanked apart by the chaos. She guided me towards the screening soldiers, and I did my best not to turn away from bright intrusion, blinking away spots and feeling a rough hand on my back.  
She was examined, too, shoved into me with a grinning kind of relief, and we held each other close. Shuffling down the line, there was a hop in Sarah’s step that I couldn’t help but feed off of, and we slipped into the protective walls happily.  
There were several paths with a makeshift sign in the middle, pointing towards different sections of the converted building, but neither of us could read, so it was ignored. We followed the crowd like sheep, led towards a massive table in the middle of what seemed like a courtyard with autumn-dead trees and grass that crunched with frost under out calloused feet.  
Standing at the end of the table was a towering man. He was too far to see properly, but even at that distance I could feel his authoritative air, how every other man bowed their head just a bit more in his presence. Hand-in-hand, Sarah and I walked towards him, the details revealed the closer we came.  
He had icy eyes. They were silver-blue, moving from dark to light as they approached the edges of the irises. His hair was dark brown, dotted with grey and cut militaristically. His lips were tight and straight, his features jutting, sharp, masculine. Even his body seemed to be gracefully bulked, a straight posture showing his strength through the priest’s uniform he was wearing. His cold gaze scanned the crowd before him without even a hint of emotion, landing on us.  
My grip on my sister’s hand tightened, and I glowered back at him, replying to his authoritative air with a childish kind of defiance. He was smiling at me, or at least I thought it was me, and Sarah pried her fingers out of my vice-grip, tearing me out of my one-sided battle with the Father. Looking at my sister, I bowed my head in apology and sat in one of the empty chairs, Sarah planting herself next to me and setting her hand on top of my fist in an attempt to calm me.  
“What was that about?” She asked in a hushed tone that only I could recognize through the chatter around us.  
“The father makes me sick.”  
“Welcome to the Ministry.” The priest’s voice boomed, and everybody fell silent at his words, a hush falling over the large crowd.  
He held out his hands with a welcoming gesture, a smile that could have melted ice spreading over his handsome features, and I had to look at the table. The sounds of the people who had been denied entrance were lingering on the outside of the walls, and the occasional gunshot interrupted the eerie silence.  
“This is a sanctuary of the Lord, and there are a few rules that all who live here must obey. First, I will quote Marx: ‘From all men his ability, to all men his needs.’ I expect for everybody to do their part. You will be assigned a work schedule once you have been interviewed and tested.” The wood was beaten up and not very well sanded.  
“Second, follow the Commandments. Be warned; you will be cast out if you sin. The Lord’s eyes are everywhere.” I scoffed, and Sarah bore her emerald gaze into the side of my head.  
“Third, try your best to follow the schedules. If you miss a meal, you do not eat. If you miss light’s out, you do not sleep. If everyone is clear on the rules, we may begin our meal. Let us pray.” The priest sat and bowed his head, people passing around a basket of bread.  
I watched it with a ravenous gaze. Neither of us had had bread in ages, since before the fever, and my stomach grumbled at the promise of it. It was coming closer, a single piece taken from the basket by each person, until an older-looking woman pocketed an extra piece. I saw it, but I paid it no mind until she was wrenched backwards and off of the crudely-made stool.  
A man that I hadn’t seen before had tugged her by the hair and dragged her along the ground. Some of the new arrivals stared with disbelief, but most of the people I didn’t recognize from outside the gate just stared at their empty bowls with bowed heads and moving lips. Both Sarah and I watched in horror as there was a rifle pressed to her forehead, and her flailing body stilled suddenly with the pop of the gun. Two frail people scurried out from the shadow of the building, barely visible under the evening sky, and dragged her away.  
Both of us knew better than to investigate further, and we turned towards the table, someone passing us a stack of bowls. We pretended to pray until the Father exclaimed a loud “Amen” and was echoed by the crowd before him in unison. I only took one piece of bread.  
After a dinner of stew with vegetables and ground meat in it, Sarah and I followed after the crowd that was led into the building. The Priest went an entirely different direction, and I held onto my sister for dear life, Sarah somehow calmer than me. She was always the level-headed one when it came to anything other than compassion, and I felt fear for both of us while she maintained her sanity and dragged me along towards where the black-clad soldiers were guiding us. Because we were obviously family, we were led to our own room, set up much like a prison cell with a bunk bed, a toilet, a sink, and bars instead of a door.  
I silently wished for privacy, but I didn’t have much to protest against, not when stealing bread was a death sentence. We curled together on the bed, welcoming the warm comfort of a blanket that kept our body heat trapped between us and the bed that was much softer than forest floor. I fell asleep to the rise-and-fall of my twin’s breathing. I dreamed of the Father, grinning at me with teeth bloody from eating human flesh, icy eyes stabbing through my pupils and groping around in my skull.


	2. First Day of School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothy and Sarah can't read.

The rags that we had arrived with were taken as we showered. We stripped down and let the lukewarm water patter on our naked bodies, sharing one of the private stalls because of Sarah’s humility. She hated the thought of the prying eyes of men, of other people, and I couldn’t blame her. She was lush under her clothing, thin and long and graceful in a way that made my chest flutter. When I left our stall, there was neatly-folded clothing in place of our tossed-away tatters.  
I stopped her before she left the shower, tossing a towel her way and drying myself with my own. I wasn’t as ashamed of my body as she was, and I dried myself off before pulling on the white cotton underwear. There were two sets for the same gender, and I wondered if it was because of the standard there or if they had confused us both as male.  
After dressing, we walked down to the courtyard. We were joined by other people, all of them wearing the same white cotton undershirts and grey jumpers, the occasional overall-wearing worker identifiable in the crowd. There were also the soldiers, who were clad in what looked like body armor, all of them wrapped in black. Their rifles were strapped to them, preventing any attempt at theft from one of the civilians. The air was cold on my moist skin when we left the building, clinging to each other like children.  
The walls weren’t so much walls as they were a massive building. The courtyard served as a dining room and social center, and Sarah and I were given written tests after breakfast. She gaped at it with horror that only I could perceive, and I glared little holes into the title that I couldn’t decipher. We glanced at each other unsurely, someone coming around and passing out writing utensils. Sarah grabbed onto his sleeve and he stopped suddenly, staring back at the both of us.  
“We can’t read.” My sister mumbled out, and we both averted our gazes.  
“Come with me, then.” He said after a moment of deliberation.  
We were led away from the courtyard and into a building opposite our rooms. It was deserted - so unlike the one we were familiar with, which was always crawling with people - and much smaller, cut off from the rest of the building by doorways that were plastered closed. There was a single stairwell that the soldier led us up, and we locked our arms, feeling on-edge in the new environment. He led us to a mahogany door that contrasted the hospital white or prison silver of every other door we had come across until then. He knocked three times, and there was an acknowledgement from the other side, beckoning for us to come in. We did just that, slipping into the ornate office with childish awe.  
The Father was at the desk, his caramel skin illuminated by a flickering candle. He didn’t notice us until the door clicked closed and heavy boots descended the stairs, leaving a thick tension behind. I was bitterly afraid of the priest. I didn’t understand it, but there was something in the way he looked up at me from the papers he was examining, the way he seemed so amused by my challenge, the way my twin tensed at my side.  
“Have you done something wrong?” He asked, and his voice had a silky quality to it.  
“No, Father, we just…”  
“Can’t read.” I finished my sister’s sentence, sounding stronger than she usually did, and he tilted his head with confusion.  
“You’re a boy?” He seemed genuinely surprised, and I had to hold back an angry grumble.  
“His name’s Timothy. I’m Sarah.” She extended her hand, but he ignored it to glare at me unceasingly.  
“You look like you’re old enough to read.” He returned to his papers as though he hadn’t been just stabbing into me with his sharp silver eyes.  
“We’ve never been to school.” The unison in our speech made him look up, an amused smile on his thin lips.  
I looked away from his attractive face and scanned the room; the bookshelf, the windows that had boards nailed over them, the vase filled with long-dead flowers. Anemones, I recognized, and I wondered where he had found such a rare flower. He seemed to be considering something, but I was too busy admiring the ceiling to try to read him, something that Sarah would have scolded me for had she noticed.   
“So I need to put you in classes with the small children?”  
“We’re smart.” She reasoned, a fleeting desperation in her tone.  
“I suppose I could give you menial tasks, but you’re so frail.” He pushed aside her plea and my face immediately reddened.  
I slammed my palms on the redwood desk, leaning forward and snarling like I would devoir him whole. He jumped in his chair, eyebrows furrowing with shock, mouth gaping. The surprise melted into muted amusement, then into unhindered joy, and he chuckled darkly. I recognized that noise, the sound of someone without morals, someone who was hardly human - a predator.  
“I like you, Judas. Because of that, I won’t have you shot for challenging me, but I need something in return.” His glare could have cut.  
“Anything, Father. I’m sorry for Timothy’s outburst. He has such a short temper.” She laughed the threat off like it was nothing, interrupting the string of profanities she knew was bubbling up in my throat.  
“I must say, I’m impressed. Your sister has quite the mouth, doesn’t she?” The priest’s words got him another snarl, but her hand was on my shoulder, and I sucked away my challenge.  
“I’m good with words. You were saying something about a class? I could tell you some of our skills, and you could place us accordingly.” Her smile was so soft that I slackened just a bit, moving away from the desk, closer to my twin.  
“I will place you both in basic classes. For half of the day, you will work on your studies, the other half, I’ll have you helping to prepare food. Does that job work for you? I will find a more appropriate job when I can properly test you.” He lost the sickness behind his mask, and I was taken aback.  
I was great at reading people. It was a skill that I had babied ever since we first started the con; Sarah convinced them, I figured out what buttons she was supposed to push. I couldn’t read the priest, though. He had such a well-formed façade that I could hardly believe he was the monster he had shown before. He seemed to catch my gape and gave me a misplaced wink that made my stomach twist.  
My eyes were wandering. From his intense eyes to his serious lips to the faint ghosting of stubble on his chin that dipped from his jaw to his neck. The way his jugulars disappeared under the black and white of his uniform, the bulge of his Adam’s apple, the width of his shoulders. I caught myself before my eyes could travel further, glancing over at my sister, who was still intently staring at him with the interest she always displayed towards the people she was wooing.  
I realized with disgust that there was an attraction towards the monster on the other side of the desk. I didn’t understand it in the least, found it preposterous, stuffed it back into my mind and locked it away, promising to never let those ridiculous feelings flutter into the front of my mind. At least not when my sister was obviously someone he was interested in. The vulgar undertones of his offhanded complement made my chest compress with fear, made my stomach twist with hate.  
We left, hand in hand, and were led to our rooms because there was nowhere else to put us. The hallway was empty, save the occasional lingering person, sleeping in regardless of the warnings he had given us. Sarah immediately collapsed on the bed, entire body shaking, and I fell to her side, tugging her to me.  
“He threatened to kill you. You heard that, right? He threatened to kill you; not me, you.” She whimpered into the nape of my neck, and I ran my fingers through her copper hair, flattened to her head since it wasn’t being blown around by ruthless wind or sticking straight up because of grime.  
It felt foreign but pleasant, and I kissed the top of her head, relishing the scent of soap and her. She still shook in my grasp, and I rocked her, ignoring my rage and lingering lust to comfort my sister.  
“I’m not leaving. You hear me? I’m not going anywhere.” I told her sternly, Sarah’s legs pulling to her chest so that she could curl into me properly.


	3. Revolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First smut chapter. the priest/Timothy. Enjoy.

Maybe it was because I was angry, maybe it was because I hated the Father, maybe it was because I had so much pent-up aggression that I couldn’t help myself, but I slipped out of our designated cell, leaving a snoring Sarah alone with her rest, and made my way to the priest’s room. I glared holes into the mahogany until my eyes stung with strain, my hand hovering at my side, ready to knock. Just as I moved to smash my fist against it furiously, the door swung open, and the priest stared down at me with intimidating eyes.  
I suddenly felt like a child. He had caught me, my heart immediately pounding in my throat, averting my gaze. He walked to the side and motioned towards his office, a sweet smile on his handsome features. I stared up at him with anger and disbelief, stepping in carefully and jumping slightly at the click behind me, feeling the predatory gaze as it traveled up my body.  
“Which one are you?” He asked, and he was much too close. I hadn’t even heard his footsteps.  
Refusing to answer, I moved away from him but he was at my back again. I suddenly regretted turning away from him, a large hand cupping my chin, another grabbing onto my wrist. His grip was strong, and I whimpered at the sheer power, the control he was displaying, no matter how ashamed I was of it.  
“You never answered my question.” I was still silent, knowing that he wasn’t capable of deciphering between us without my voice.  
It felt nice to deny him, even when his hand left my jaw and smashed into my diaphragm. The wind knocked out of me, I toppled to my knees, a noise escaping my throat, and he kicked me onto my stomach, foot planted firmly on my back. I struggled to regain my lost breath, gasping and scratching at the carpet, repeating the fact that I had made a stupid decision over and over in my head.  
“You have a few options, here. You can be good and leave unharmed, or…” I could feel his smirk, and it made my stomach tighten in a way that I didn’t like at all. When I didn’t answer, he chuckled the chuckle that I had heard earlier that day, the sick noise, a sound that shot right to my groin.  
“It doesn’t matter.” He purred out huskily, then he kicked me onto my back, falling to straddle my thighs.  
He was direct and harsh, tearing the zipper of my jumpsuit down and tugging my white shirt up. He grinned with a sick kind of thrill at my bare chest, pale and untouched and thin, the gentle hint of ribs under flesh that I had just begun to develop. The priest left fleeting touches on my skin, scratching at the dip in the middle of my torso where my ribcage gave way to my diaphragm. I arched my back and groaned, not understanding why that little spot shot a ripple of animal need through me.  
“There you go, Judas.” He said, cupping my growing arousal shamelessly through my pants.  
“Don’t fight it.”  
“I hate you.” I spat, writhing against his touch regardless, hating every delicious roll of skilled fingers.  
“See, I don’t think you do. Not yet, at least.” The older male bunched my shirt over my mouth, smiling with a smugness that made my heart thump wildly in my chest.  
“If you need a muffle, use this. Now stay down and shut up.” I bit onto the white cotton because he told me to, moaning breathily into my makeshift gag when his fingers snaked past my pants, stroking.  
The touch of his fingers made something click in my brain, and I was writhing away from him. He shot me an angry look, and I stilled. He looked so powerful, silver-blue gaze trapping me in my spot, another stroke making a desperate noise leave my throat. I told myself that if he went too far, I would stop him, and he would listen. I knew it was a lie.  
He used his other hand to pull downwards on my jumpsuit, and managed it from my arms with some difficulty, seeing as I protested it as much as I could, digging my shoulders into the floor and squirming. The tight heat left my groin, and I groaned against my will, bucking into nothing. His hands were on my hips, lifting them enough to tug my pants off of my legs, and my breath hitched, kicking frantically at him, two firm palms planted on my knees.  
“If you struggle, it’s going to hurt much worse.” He promised, and I protested with a groan against my makeshift gag, feeling the painful pressure leave my legs.  
I stared at the ceiling because I couldn’t stand to look at him, blinking back a series of tears that were threatening to spill. I refused to show that kind of weakness, huffing noisily through my nose, then I felt something unwelcome at my entrance, something that most definitely didn’t belong. It went in smoothly, and wasn’t painful, but I groaned regardless, and he huffed above me.  
“Shut up, it’s just a finger.” He growled, then he prodded around, the uncomfortable feeling melting away when he hit something. I yelped sharply and pressed back on the intrusion, getting an amused chuckle.  
“There?” He asked, and I nodded fervently, the priest curling his finger inside me and hitting that delicious spot more roughly, making my eyes snap shut.  
There was something hotter and larger pressed against me, and I tried to wiggle backwards. One of his rough hands was planted on my hip, tugging me back onto him, making me scream into the gag. It hurt, but it wasn’t the tearing feeling that I imagined it would be, so he must have prepared, and I thanked him wordlessly for the kindness.  
“You’re tight. This must hurt like Hell.” He huffed out from over me, and I nodded.  
He hadn’t moved, letting me adjust to being filled, and I was surprised at the sympathy. He moved backwards and shoved forward, somehow angling it just right and smashing into my prostate. I let out a high-pitched whine, groping out wildly to find something to hold onto, the priest suddenly hovering over me. My legs, which had been futilely working to push him away, tightened around him, and his lips met my shirt.  
I spat the spiteful fabric out and attacked his bottom lip with my teeth, feeling a tongue move against my own lip. I let the wet muscle slide into my mouth, immediately invading and prodding and exploring as he thrust into me again. It took all of my strength to keep from biting down on his tongue, tangling one of my hands in his hair, tugging him away.  
I grunted aloud, and he let me, moving more forcefully to watch as I arched against him and mewled. I found myself close, even after so little stimulation, snaking my hand between his clothed torso and my bare front, whining when his hand tugged it away, a denial of my pleasure.  
“I will not have a dead fish if I finish too late.” He growled, then picked up the pace, doing nothing for the anger I was trying my best to show.  
Even without anything to touch me, I was seeping, and he noticed, sitting on his heels as he fucked me. His hand moved to my throbbing arousal, stroking with maddeningly slow motions, making me whine loudly. I scratched at the carpet, rocked against the agony, squirmed and found myself almost there, but it didn’t happen. I was still being stimulated, a thrusting pelvis colliding with mine, a large hand stroking me quickly, and I looked down to find that he had blocked my climax with a finger wrapped tightly around the base.  
“Shit – please, ohGod, I-I need – I need-“  
“Did I tell you to talk?” He huffed out, and I groaned loudly, feeling him smash relentlessly against my prostate with almost-painful force.  
He let go of me altogether and used both of his hands to lift me from the hardwood floor, pounding into me. I writhed and moaned more loudly than I should have, climaxing against my own front and yelping when he pumped into me a few more times, softening the force. He was twitching above me, I could feel it in my thighs, huffing noisily and groaning a deep sound that forced another wave of orgasm through my still-convulsing body.  
“You can have tomorrow off. Your sister, too.” He said, pulling away and adjusting his clothing. He disappeared through the door to the stairwell, leaving me to find my sanity in the mess that he left behind.


	4. Busy Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of insight into the twincesty part of this.

When I returned to our cell, Sarah was waiting for me with angry eyes. There was burning intensity in the little green orbs that flashed in the light from the hallway. I bowed my head in apology that made her anger fade, but she could taste the little bit of something else behind my act of contrition.  
“What happened?” It wasn’t a question so much as an order, and I immediately fell at her feet, head resting on her bony knees, shoulders shaking with woe.  
She petted my hair, kissed the top of my head, rocked me gently, and shushed me with not even a hint of her previous anger. She knew - in the sense that any twin knew - in those moments of open closeness that something terrible had happened. Her thin fingers soothed me enough to dampen the shaking that had been wracking my body, the sting in my backside, the ache in my gut. I crawled sloppily onto the bed, curling into Sarah, letting her warmth envelop me completely.  
“I went to the Father’s office.” I didn’t need more explanation; she knew, and she groaned out in the agony that I was feeling but wouldn’t voice.  
“B-but I didn’t – it didn’t…” She looked down at me, my face nestled in her chest, her arms wrapped around my neck.  
“What?” Her gentle tone drew another pitiful sob from my throat, sore from ragged noises.  
“I liked it.” Sarah was silent.  
I hadn’t spoken any higher than a whisper, but the way her body stilled and her muscles stiffened told me that she had heard. There was no mistaking her surprised gasp, and I looked away from her features, afraid that I would see rejection in her eyes. Instead of pushing me away, she tugged me closer, the bend of her knees folding into my stomach like the puzzle pieces we were, and I felt whole again.  
“We have tomorrow off.”  
I woke to gentle humming. We weren’t necessarily confined to our rooms if we stayed home, but I was bitterly tired and hadn’t even awoken for breakfast. My stomach protested loudly, but I ignored it to stare at my sister, who was sitting at the edge of the bed and fidgeting with a length of yarn torn from the thin blanket we had been given. When Sarah felt me move, she looked at me, her round, girlish features illuminated beautifully by the glowing midday sun, shining just right through the window across the hall.  
“Good morning, sleepy head.” She grinned, and I smiled sheepishly, patting the bed next to me.  
My twin scooted towards me but didn’t lay down, and I grumbled out something that would have been a protest had I been able to form words. Her only reply was a slap to my calf, and she stood expectantly, waiting for me to drag myself from our bed.  
“The showers should be empty.” She said with a reassuring smile, and my grin grew, but was dampened by the shock of my bare feet pattering on the cold concrete floor.  
Stepping into the slippers that we were given and picking up the clean change of overalls set out for us on the little sink in our room, I followed my sister down the hall then up the short stairwell. I grunted unhappily with every step, a shooting pain traveling up my spine as we ascended. She slowed and held my hand as we went, her smile gently fading and an unconscious limp made itself more prominent as our footsteps started to match up in the echo of the stairwell.  
When we made it into the showers, I barely waited for the doors to close behind us before I tore away my dirty clothing. There was a basket near the door for us to leave our dirty laundry, but I ignored it and headed to the nearest private stall. The soap dispenser, set up with a pump that only allowed two per person, was my first order of action, Sarah immediately at my side and adjusting the water until it sputtered out unsurely then a stream of pleasant water hit both of our bodies.  
With a contented sight, I let it wash over me, intent on scrubbing away all of the remnants of the Father, no matter how much my body seemed to enjoy what could only be called a blatant intrusion. She let me and I stepped out of the water to lather, exhaling some of my built-up tension and staring at the white curtain separating us from prying eyes. I turned towards Sarah, who was at the soap machine, and rinsed away the last bit of priest, feeling much more at ease now that I was there, with my sister, without a predator to snatch her up in its jaws.  
“Is anybody here?” She whispered, rubbing some of the soap into her coppery hair, the noise just barely over the hiss of the faucet.  
Immediately, I stuck my head out of the curtain and scanned around, checking in the private stalls adjacent to our own, then pinned my twin under the warm flow, licking up the side of her soapy neck and ignoring the unpleasant taste. She giggled and pushed on my shoulders like the nervous teenager she was, rinsing then wiggling her hips in a lurid way.  
“Do you really think we should be doing this here?” I asked with a grin that didn’t support my protest at all, and she bit her bottom lip, plump and red and – for the first time in ages – not chapped with thirst.  
“It’s a terrible idea.” She replied with the same devilish smile, and I was at her throat again, tongue running along her jugular.  
She wrapped her wet arms around my shoulders, I ran fleeting touches to her thighs, she tugged on my hair and I nibbled gently at her throat, both of us letting out pitiful little noises. As I was trailing my hand from the jut of her shoulder blade to her chest, the door creaked open, and we parted, heavy footsteps bounding off the walls.  
Sarah and I caught our gazes, and I saw a thick swallow I realized I was mirroring, my sister going to the plastic that was suddenly much too thin. The soldiers said something indistinguishable from the doorway and left, both of us sighing in relief. I shot to the towels, tossing her one and drying myself off with panicked, rushed movements, tugging on my clothes with difficulty seeing as I was only half-dry and was continuously getting caught on the inside of the warm, pliable fabric.  
When we were dressed, we walked to the courtyard just in time for a lunch of sandwiches and apple juice. I could feel prying eyes wandering to us as we ate, but I couldn’t find the courage to look up at who I knew it was. The glare stung enough for me to be able to recognize it, and I doubted I would ever be able to forget the way he made me feel naked while I was fully clothed.  
I left the table in a hurry, and Sarah followed after me, confused. Rushing to my side, she scanned the angry expression I wore, and stopped me before I could reach the door to the building with our rooms in it with a sharp yank. I glowered at her but softened immediately when I saw the hurt look on her beautiful features, the tilted head, the worried eyes.  
“He was staring at me the whole time. I could feel it.” I hissed out, unable to hide the disdain behind my tone.  
“Let him. What’s it matter?”  
“It’s you, Sarah. I can’t stand the thought of him coming after you.” She looked bitter, then angry, and I struggled to find my mistake.  
“Oh, but it’s okay the other way around, then? You selfish little prick.” She stormed into the building, fuming, and I followed after her, forming apologies. She was right; I was being selfish.  
“Sarah, it’s not like that!” I shouted at her in the hallway, but she didn’t even turn, rushing to our cell and using the bar to swing into it.  
“Dammit, listen to me!” I pleaded, but she was sitting on the bed, facing the wall with defiance.  
I approached her with outstretched hands, brushing one against her shoulder, and when she didn’t recoil, I wrapped my arms around her torso. Sitting on the bed, I pulled my sister close, chin resting on the top of her head, one arm on her shoulder, the other curled around her waist.  
“I’m sorry.” I mumbled, and I felt a heavy exhale.  
“I know, Timothy.” Her hand was on mine, patting me gently. She still seemed angry, but if she was pushing her emotions aside, I would let her.


	5. Not Afraid of Hell

Things fell into habit. For the first half of the day, Sarah and I went to private tutoring. We learned letters, basic math [which we caught onto quickly, seeing as we had worked with money], bits and pieces of history, and simple science. I was better at numbers – I always had been – and she wrapped her head around words much more quickly than I did. The second half of our day, after lunch, was spent chopping vegetables. It was mostly onions, carrots, celery; things for soup, which we seemed to have every day, but it was enjoyable in a tedious kind of way.  
I didn’t really notice the Father around. It was as though he only congregated at meal times and on Sundays, when we had our prayer time and a day off. Sundays were my favorite; Sarah and I would go into the fenced-off area meant for gardening and lay in the dead grass under the bare trees, my head on her lap as she recited spelling and played with my hair. We were content, even with the fear of rape and death. The Ministry was home.  
That Sunday was no different than any other. We dressed in our formal attire – women’s clothing, but I didn’t really mind it – and were led like cattle to the ornate monastery. We sat with our hands folded in out lap, standing when the people around us stood, bowing our heads when we were told to pray, but neither of us gave much credence to the nonsense that thePriest spewed. He was, after all, a hypocrite, and I could hardly stomach the way he spoke to his people like they were evil and he was righteous.  
When we looked up from the solemn prayer we were ignoring, there was a man standing in the middle isle, shouting something that we couldn’t quite make out. The Priest looked up from his Bible, and I could read the surprise on his face, but it turned icy immediately. Without so much as a moment of hesitation, he motioned to one of the guards that were standing by stiffly, and the man was dragged out of the door.  
My curiosity got the best of me, and my sister followed me to the floor, peering below the bench to watch the flailing and shouting man tugged from his spot. We could hear his panicked voice, exclaiming how the Father was evil, how he was a blasphemer, how they were all in Hell. When I saw him, the look in his eyes made a shiver shoot up my spine. He was a frantic animal trapped in a snare, expecting but not prepared for death.  
“Outside!” A voice boomed, and we slipped back into our previous positions, standing and following after the crowd that was being led into the courtyard.  
The Priest was surrounded on all sides by his guards, walking with intimidating grace towards where the man had been forced to his knees. The crowd circled around him, my sister and I holding onto each other at the front, tasting the sorrow that was coming off of him in waves.  
“This man thinks that I am evil.” The Priest said, and my eyes shot in his direction.  
“He says that I disgrace God, that I am not a true holy man.” The crowd was shouting at his soon-to-be victim.  
“I ask you: who gives you a warm place to sleep, who gives you food, who protects you from the evil outside our walls?”  
“I say that we should stone him to death, in the old fashion.” He had a smile that I remembered, that made me tighten my hold on Sarah, that made something tingle with thrill in the pit of my stomach.  
The crowd was suddenly a pack of wolves. They spat and growled and tossed shrill screams at the man who was rocking in an attempt to comfort himself. I don’t know who threw the first stone, or even where it had come from, but it landed on his back and practically tore the flesh from his bones, crying out raggedly. I couldn’t watch, so I turned my attention towards the Priest. He had a smug look on his face, and he turned to leave, waking slowly in the direction of his office.  
I followed after him, Sarah trailing behind me with a dazed kind of disbelief. We were stopped at the door by one of the guards, the Father turning towards us with surprise on his intimidating features, then smiled with what I would only describe as the friendliest grin I had ever received from anybody other than my sister.  
“Come.” He ordered silkily, and we were led up the stairs and into his office.  
There was something sweet in the air. He closed the door behind us, and the noise was reminiscent of a few nights before, with the Priest pressed against me from behind. I shivered visibly, and Sarah gave me a subtle glance. The Priest circled his desk and sat in his chair, a gentle thunk sounding when he hit it and sprawled. My sister and I were both rigid with fear, and I cursed myself for approaching him in the first place.  
“What do you want?” He asked sternly, face a stoic unreadable.  
“Th-that man. You’re… It was unjust.” I stammered out, and my sister was staring at me with horror painted on her pretty features.  
“So you’re Judas. That must mean you’re Lilith.” He addressed us both in turn, and I couldn’t place the second reference.  
“My name is Sarah.”  
“I don’t care.” There was a flash of anger. It was the first time I had seen him even moderately fazed, and I stepped closer to my twin.  
“So, you think I was being unreasonable?” He spoke with a calm, silky tone that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He was so powerful.  
“You’re a cruel tyrant.” My sister said, mirroring his calm, but there was fire behind her emerald stare.  
The Priest leaned forward in his chair. There was a smirk on his features, an inhuman glint in his smoky eyes. His elbows rested on the desk, his chin in his hands, and he pursed his lips with the fakest pout I had ever seen. I was torn between a need to break his nose and kiss his lips. The thought was disgusting, so I looked to my sister. Her expression was strange; her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth slightly agape, something between horror and disbelief and another emotion that I couldn’t identify, which probably meant she didn’t understand it either.  
“Would you like to see me be cruel?” There was something sultry in the man’s tone.  
“Because I’ve been going easy on you so far. Not your brother, but, honestly, he loved every second of it. Didn’t you, Judas?” I couldn’t help my blush.  
“Before you storm off like brats, I would like to remind you that all I need to do to have you killed is snap my fingers.” He looked from me to my sister to me again.  
“If you’re not obedient, I’ll have your twin killed.” I hated him with every fiber of my being, and from the look on my sister’s face, she did too.  
“So when I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?” We both stared back at him with disbelief and unadulterated rancor. He was smiling with sadistic glee, apparently pleased by our fear, our hate, the way we grabbed onto each other.  
“Right now, I want you to undress.”  
“Wha? N-no, I won’t-“  
“Now, Lilith.” There was anger again, and we pulled away from each other, swallowing thickly in unison.  
Sarah looked at me with wet eyes, and I huffed out of my nose, tugging on my zipper. She watched me move first, both of us ignoring the Priest as I stripped. The large black dress I had been forced to wear had a clip at the neck, and I had to have Sarah undo it. It fell to the floor with a gentle puff of displaced air, and I let out a ragged breath, clad only in blue boxers and black flats. When I found the courage to look at the Father, his expression - the way his icy eyes mapped my lithe form - made me shiver with a combination of thrill and embarrassment.  
It was my sister’s turn. She shook her head fervently when I approached, and I put my hand on her cheek to try and calm her, kissing her forehead lovingly. I didn’t want for her to die, for her to be left alone if he sought to punish her instead, so I undid the hook and gingerly pried the zipper down. It fell off of her freckled shoulders, revealing her beautiful form, and I wanted to sob aloud at the thought that the view wasn’t mine alone anymore. I hugged her tightly in an attempt to keep the Priest from seeing more of her, not wanting to remove the underwear, her last line of defense against his prying eyes.  
“I want to see you please her.” He said, shattering the little bit of an illusion that we had tried to create by ignoring him.  
I was grateful that he didn’t want to see more, hoping that he wouldn’t ask for more later on. Sarah was a virgin. We could never stomach the thought of her losing her purity, so we never went that far. It was always just rutting, fingers, inconsequential things.  
Because the Father had demanded it, I led my sister to the floor, spread her thighs and knelt between her parted knees, mouthing reassurances to her as she held her face in her hands. I glanced up at the expectant expression on the Priest’s face, scowled at him for humiliating my sister, then pulled on her underwear. She moved almost instinctually, and I pressed my lips to her throat, moving up to her ear.  
“Just pretend we’re alone. Okay? Just you and me.” And I slid my hand to her core, brushed over the warmth, feeling dryness.  
As I rubbed, the little nub that always turned Sarah into putty became inflamed, and she was twitching against the contact. Her hips were moving gently, and I latched my mouth onto the nape of her neck, another sweet spot. I had the same one, on the left side instead of the right, and I felt a shaking hand brush over it, another tangled in my hair. It wasn’t the same as always if I wasn’t enjoying it, too, and though I hated the idea of the Priest seeing me in such a raw position, writhing on the thigh I was grinding against, I had no choice.  
Sarah groaned aloud when I bit down, and the noise shot down my spine, making me move my hand quickly. I removed my mouth from the saliva-shiny neck I had been practically devouring, sucking roughly on the sharp jut of my twin’s collar bone, scraping my teeth down her small breasts. They fit in my palm, hardly noticeable with the baggy clothing we always wore, but I thought they were perfect. I closed my mouth over one of her nipples, flicking my tongue against it quickly and feeling it grow at the contact. Distantly, as though it was miles away, I heard the Father grunt in approval, and the sound made me rut a little harder on my sister’s leg.  
“T-Timothy. I need…” She demanded shortly, and I glanced up at her lovely face.  
She was always the most beautiful just before I actually started, while I was teasing her into full arousal. Her eyes were shut tightly, her cherry-pink lips parted just a bit. I wanted to attack her mouth, but resisted, sliding between her thighs again. I was at her core then, the warmth practically radiating from her lithe form. I lapped gently at the swollen nub, and she bucked against my tongue. Following her silent directive, I sucked noisily in it, and she arched her back, groaning loudly.  
Sarah’s legs wrapped around my shoulders and her hand laced through my hair, the fingers tightening around the copper strands. I grunted against the wetness I was lapping quickly at, my twin using the leverage of her knees on my shoulders to push me closer. I could feel his gaze on us, the prying eyes watching as I lapped at my sister’s clitoris, probably realizing that this wasn’t the first time I had done this. My hand - which had been wrapped around my sister’s thigh - trailed down, and I pressed one finger into the slick, tight heat.  
I prodded around, looking in the general vicinity for where her sweet spot was, and heard a ragged, choked-back yelp. In response, I bore down on it with a wiggling finger and sucked roughly on the bundle of nerves I was worshipping.  
“Shi-Timoth-I c- I can’t- ah!” It was enough. I could feel her writhe against my face, the muscles of her legs tightening on my shoulders, the moisture increasing as she gasped incoherently.  
She flopped back onto the floor, chest heaving, and I shot up to meet her lips, knowing that she wasn’t done. She greeted me with an open, panting mouth, a tongue that shot out to taste herself, a moan caught in a thick kiss. Sarah was clawing at my back, my fingers dipping into her orgasm-sensitive core. In those moments, she was sex incarnate, and I was at her beck and call, feeling the vibration of her moans on my tongue, in my mouth, swallowed down like vital sustenance.  
“Judas, you are depraved, aren’t you?” I yanked back, a part of me panicking as though we had been caught, suddenly trapped in an icy gaze.  
“You’re so hard, too.” I glanced down to where the Priest was staring shamelessly, suddenly wishing there was more clothing to hide behind.  
“And you’re still working her, aren’t you?” I was, but I refused to stop pressing down at my sister’s sweet spot, not when she was making such a delicious noise and bucking against my hand.  
“I can see who the man in this relationship is.” He was standing, but I wanted him to stay in that chair, to let me finish, to keep away from my sister, and yet the thought of him touching me shot right to my arousal and I gasped aloud. Sarah tightened around my fingers in reaction to the noise.  
“What do you usually do next, you incestuous bastard?” He was leaning against his desk, hand stuffed into the front of his pants.  
“R-rub my…” He was looking at me with cold, expectant eyes, and my face was red with shame.  
“Dick against her.” I finished, looking down at Sarah, who was staring back at me with lust-filled eyes, almost as though she wasn’t ashamed of being completely naked in front of the Father.  
“Yeah?” I could see the hand in his pants moving fervently, and my mouth was suddenly dry.  
“Let’s see that.” He ordered briskly, and I looked down at Sarah unsurely.  
She pushed gently on my shoulder, and I was immediately on my back, her fingers wrapping around both of my wrists. I crossed them instinctually; it was our usual position. She climbed into my lap, rutting her wetness, the inflamed nub that had come back to life, against me through my underwear. One of her pale fingers hooked under the boxers and tugged them down just enough to grind flesh against flesh.  
I gave a throaty moan, bucking up against her, tugging on the firm hand holding me there. I pried my eyes open to see Sarah, a smile painted on her lips, eyes wild with animal need. We were moving a bit faster, both of us panting and groaning, her on a higher pitch. Her thin fingers wrapped around me, and she was stroking. This was my turn, we both knew, though I usually coaxed a few more orgasms out of Sarah first; I loved to watch her falter into an absolute wreak, to see her eyes roll into the back of her head when she couldn’t take any more, to listen to the gradual increase in volume as she lost more and more of her rational mind. The thought made me buck roughly into her hand, the Priest shuddering and letting out a husky noise.  
”Stop.” The Priest suddenly snapped, and Sarah was dead still, both of us looking in his direction.  
“I want you.” He was pointing at my sister with the hand he wasn’t pleasing himself with.  
“No!” There was an icy glare on me when I shouted, the noise shrill and panicked.  
“Excuse me?” The tone of his voice told me that I needed to choose my next words very carefully.  
“You… You can have me.” I offered, sitting up. The action made Sarah roll her hips unconsciously, forcing a strained whimper out of my throat.  
My eyes were locked on Sarah’s, and we reassured each other wordlessly. There was the clatter of something near where the Priest had been, the ruffling of papers, then a deathly silence.  
“Lilith, I want you on this table, on your back.” He demanded, and she obeyed, but our fingers were intertwined with compassion, and I stood next to her. The underwear that had been bunched just below my hips fell to the floor, and I stepped out of them, following after my sister.  
She crawled onto the table, legs crossed at the knees, suddenly self-conscious again. There was an expression on her face that was half horror, half thrill, and my hand tightened around hers, squeezing a reassurance. I could feel the Father’s gaze travel up my naked body, glimpsing his palm placed on my twin’s knee and prying her legs apart. He wrapped two large hands around Sarah’s thighs and yanked her towards him on the desk, both of us gasping with surprise in unison.  
I saw him grind against the wet heat through his pants, grinning down at her sadistically, and the image shot right to my groin. I was already throbbing, and it was painful to see the way she arched her back against the raw friction of his coarse clothing against her core, squirming against the attention. I realized suddenly that the Priest rubbing against her was just as arousing to her as it was to me, her eyes locked on the man’s face, mouth opened with insatiable pleasure.  
“Judas.” He snapped, and I let go of my twin’s hand to approach him.  
His hand was suddenly wrapped tightly enough around my upper arm to leave a bruise, and he stepped back from his previous position to shove me against Sarah. I groaned desperately when he yanked my hips backwards and grabbed onto the back of my neck with his other hand, forcing me to bend at the hip.  
My face was at Sarah’s breast, and I took a nipple into my mouth, her fingers knotted in my hair again. I could feel him move around behind me, the pressure from my hip and neck gone. There was the noise of a bottle popping open, then a finger at my entrance, pushing in without so much as a warning.  
“Rub against her, you worthless little whore.” He growled huskily, pressing the finger deeper and prodding along my walls.  
I obeyed, moving to attach my mouth to Sarah’s neck, my desperate, ragged moans caught in the contact. Her skin was hot and flushed and wet from my previous ministrations, her fingers tightening in my hair. The Priest was pushing another finger into me, thrusting at a steady pace. I felt like I would melt into bliss when I rutted against my twin, his fingers finding my prostate.  
A ragged noise left both me and my sister at the pleasure, her ankles locking behind my back, the Father shoving his fingers forward roughly again. It was maddening, and I had to bite onto Sarah’s shoulder to keep back more pitiful sounds, which resulted in a series of untamed bucks. I felt like I would explode from over-stimulation, never having felt quite so deliriously delighted. I was afraid that I was going to finish, and that the Father would be angry with me because of it.  
“Y-you need to…” I managed to break away from Sarah’s skin long enough to stumble over my words. He added another finger to listen to me struggle.  
“I’m gonna… I-I can’t k-keep up.” I moaned against the indent of my teeth that I knew would bruise, that Sarah would scold me for no matter how much she begged me to leave marks in the mindlessness of passion. Sarah groaned at my words, which didn’t help at all.  
“You want me?” He sounded labored, and I whined a noise that was a bit more feminine than I would have liked, his finger rubbing against my prostate.  
“P-please- Gnh…” I was no longer moving against Sarah, but she never stopped, using her legs to rut against me desperately.  
“There’s a special place in Hell for you.” He hissed into my ear, and I could feel his clothed front against my naked back, the scratch of rough cotton, then he was in me.  
I held back a yelp of pain and euphoria, the Father not taking the time to let me adjust and smashing forward. Sarah’s eyes snapped open, and I attacked her lips with my own. Her hand, which was tangled in my hair, moved between our flush fronts, snaking to my arousal, but I grabbed it and yanked it away, pinning both of her arms to the desk. She moaned appreciatively into my mouth and moved down on the forward thrust forced by the Father’s movements.  
“You’re both depraved. Absolutely shameless.” He sounded almost as though he was praising us.  
Sarah’s noises were increasing in intensity, and I sped up, the Priest moving into me harder and faster. Every thrust smashed into my prostate, and I didn’t care if we were punished or not, letting the Father fuck me and force me to rub against my twin. We were panting into each other’s mouths, before she trailed down and bit the place that I had marked on her earlier, making me cry out with bliss. I was close, and from the vibrations of my sister’s noises, she was too.  
We came in unison, the Father pausing to watch us lapse, but he didn’t pull away, and I was raw from the fullness, the rough fucking, the ragged pleasure. Sarah panted below me, glancing at me with confusion when I didn’t move away.  
“No more…” I begged weakly, and there was a throaty chuckle behind me, followed by gentle motion.  
My vision was dotted with white when he pressed forward, hitting my prostate dead-on. I let out a pained noise, and she whined unhappily in reply. I knew she could keep going, but I was always worn-out afterwards. His ministrations were forcing a strange kind of pleasure to shoot up my spine.  
“You don’t have a say, Judas.” He mumbled into my ear, shoving forward a bit more roughly and making me groan again. Sarah was petting my hair soothingly.  
“Father, let me use my… L-let me use my mouth on him.” Sarah pleaded and I groaned when he pulled away with a grin, cold air hitting my battered skin.  
“Would you like that, Judas?” I nodded fervently, too tired to peel myself away from my twin.  
“You have to ride me.” The words made me groan, but I stood straight on shaking legs, staggering to where the Priest had sat in his chair.  
I looked at him pleadingly, his sharp eyes unmoving, then I squirmed onto his lap, facing my sister, who was moving much more strongly than I was, falling to her knees in front of us with a thunk. The noise was somehow arousing, and I didn’t protest as loudly as I had before when he led my hips roughly down on him, watching me choke back noises and arch so that he was rubbing against my prostate. Sarah lapped at me, teasing until I was hard again and panting raggedly into the stillness.  
“She’s got quite a mouth, doesn’t she?” The Priest was hissing into my ear, urging me to move with his hands planted on my waist.  
“How far can she take you, huh, Judas?” There were work-worn fingers tangled in Sarah’s hair, the man bucking into me and yanking her down in one smooth, hardhearted motion. She gagged noisily around me, then I could feel her swallow me down, her throat pulsating around me.  
“J-Jesus fuck!” I groaned out raggedly against my will, the combination of my sister pleasing me and the Priest shoved against my prostate, moving with quick, little thrusts, was enough to drive me into unbelievable euphoria.  
“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. You’ll go to Hell.” And he was moving more fervently, forcing me to fuck my sister’s face, his hand still planted in her hair. I barely registered her hand snaking between her thighs and moving quickly; she was enjoying it.  
“H-harder, please…” I moaned, and he let go of the hip he was leading me up-and-down with.  
Immediately, I smashed down onto him more roughly than he had fucked me before, listening to the vulgar choking noises that left my twin at every upward motion. The pace was fast and hard and the Father was cursing incoherently, clawing down my back. It hurt so good, and I moaned appreciatively, feeling something hot and sticky drip from where he had scratched, where his teeth were digging into the back of my shoulder. Sarah moaned against me, snug in her throat, as a reply, and the Father was shoving up into my hard downward thrusts erratically.  
He came, pushing up more gently, then letting me rock the rest of his orgasm out of him, feeling the sharp vibrations of my sister’s orgasm rattle against me. It was enough to pull another climax out of me, and she searched for the Father’s eyes before she swallowed. He patted the head of ruffled hair he had been grabbing onto, his hand pulling away with copper hairs he had torn from her scalp by the force of it, and I was pushed off of him gingerly.  
“Good job, you two.” He told us as though we were showing him a picture we had drawn for him, readjusting his clothing.  
I pulled Sarah onto her feet, and she guided me on rubber legs to where our clothing had been discarded. He cleared his throat, a demand for our attention, pointing to one of the three doors in the room, to his right. My twin guided me towards it, opening the door to reveal a lavished bedroom.  
“You’re sleeping here.” He said, sounding spent as he stood and scooped up the dresses and underwear we had discarded.  
“All of my property sleeps at the foot of my bed.” I glanced at Sarah, and she looked mortified.  
“Go on.” The Priest closed the door behind him and pointed to the bed, both me and my sister climbing onto the massive mattress slowly.  
I gasped in unison with her. It was the softest thing I had ever felt, and I buried into it immediately. Sarah curled up against me, her knees pulled to her chest, forehead against mine. There was something moving over us, something that kept away the cold that had washed over our bodies due to the sweat that left a gentle sheen on our naked bodies, and I pulled the blanket so that it was tucked under my neck.  
He kicked his shoes off, not even bothering to change out of his uniform, and ripped the down comforter that we were laying on top of away. I felt his feet nudge the top of my head under the thick blanket and I lifted my neck, laying so that they supported me like a pillow would have. Like a dog showing that it was obedient. She did the same, and we fell almost immediately to sleep, exhausted from the strain of sex.


	6. Cannibalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence. Smuttless.

There’s something about being treated like an object that makes life easier. We had been looked down on for most of our lives, used by the people who could gain leverage over us. Our parents collected Welfare to use to buy drugs, the woman who lived down the road from us gave us food in return for yard work, our foster home got funds from the government and free labor from us. We were accustomed to it, expecting for people to use us, and in return, we used them; stealing booze from our dad to numb some of the cold, “misplacing” knickknacks at the old woman’s house, hiding from the police in the attic of the foster home when our fingers weren’t quite sticky enough.  
It was a give-and-take. They used us, treated us like property, and we did the same, just with more subtlety. It was different with the Father, though. The only thing we got in return for servitude was our lives and physical release. There was no way to con him; he was too smart, too powerful, too keen on cutting the thread if we slipped up. If stealing a piece of bread was punishable by death, then stealing directly from him would have gotten us much worse.  
I woke up to Sarah’s sleeping face, brushing my fingers over her cheek gently, my twin slowly returning to lucidity. She gave a sweet, sleepy smile, glancing upwards to check if the Priest was still there. He wasn’t, and I wondered how he had vacated the bed without either of us stirring.  
It had been like that, off-and-on, for a week or so. We slept naked at the foot of the Priest’s bed, with the man fully clothed the entire time. He hadn’t touched us since the first night he had us together, and had been dictating our day-to-day. We were given razors, told to shave off all of our body hair, soaking in the Priest’s massive bathtub as Sarah, who was good about keeping it off, showed me what to do. We no longer dressed in girl’s clothes, the Father giving us both pristine-looking suits to replace our overalls, and we were forced to follow him around on his errands. At meals, we were ordered to wait to eat until he was done, sitting with our hands in our laps, salivating as we watched him consume the stew happily, but we didn’t argue, because we were often given an extra piece of bread if he thought we had begged well enough. There was no dignity in our lives, but we were well-fed, protected from the weather, and had each other.  
It was a rather normal day. That morning, the Priest had given us both collars, wrapped up in a box like they were presents. We immediately put them on and thanked him, only to have him demand we take them off and bathe for the day. The soap he provided made us smell like vanilla. When we were dried off and changed, we left the bedroom and followed the Father on the way to breakfast, morning prayers, the beginning of everyone’s day.  
I don’t remember exactly where it had started, but at the table, someone stabbed one of the guards, then there was nothing but blood. Up on the walls, keeping watch over the civilians inside and anybody trying to get in, were men with high-powered rifles, and they fired into the panicked crowd. Later, when the alarm had been dampened, and people were wailing over the limp bodies of the lost, the Priest demanded a demonstration of his power.  
It was a woman. She looked about forty, though her hair had considerably grayed, and there were dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn’t slept in weeks. I didn’t recognize her, not even from out time in the general population, before the Father had claimed us as property. She was tied to a post in the main part of the Ministry, arms wrapped around it, bound behind her back. Her screams were frantic exclamations of innocence, but the Priest’s expression didn’t even change. He leaned over and whispered something to the soldier at his right, Sarah and I at his left, our hands tightly clasped.  
They set dogs on her. The mutts looked as though they had been starved, their ribs poking out from the skin, like their flesh, with clumps of hair missing, had been pulled over the bones. I could hardly call them dogs from the way they snarled and barked and yanked on their reins, tied to the same post the woman was bound against. She was crying, sobbing, and over the deafening silence, I could hear a quiet prayer, unfinished before the animals’ muzzles were pulled off.  
Sarah curled into me, and I gasped in horror, holding her head to my chest, covering her ears. The cry that ripped out of the woman’s throat was guttural and shrill, turning into a gurgle. The dogs, all three of them, attacked her legs, made her falter to the ground as their teeth tore into her flesh, tearing it away with spatters of blood. They then went for her midsection, starting with their claws, puncturing the soft of her belly. I stayed focused on her eyes, hoping the agony would be over for her soon, but the flicker of life didn’t leave until they had crawled up into her chest cavity and torn out her heart.  
The crowd was forced to wait there until the hounds had had their fill. The Priest walked back to his office, and we followed at his heels, heads bowed. Sarah was crying silently, and the sight made me cry, too, in the same fashion. The Priest was no longer our lord, the give-and-take, he was a monster; even more than I had realized before, when he had killed the blasphemer with the hands of his subjects, his people. There was something in my gut telling me that the woman had done nothing wrong, that he simply had to put the blame on someone, make an example out of the imaginary cause of the riot that morning.


	7. After Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Priest fixates on Sarah.

My sister and I didn’t talk for three days after the riot. I was terrified that I would speak out of turn, and from the way that Sarah held herself, she was too. The Priest ignored us; we already knew our duties, so he didn’t feel the need to approach us or explain what was needed. That’s what I thought his intentions were, at least. If I had known him to be a normal person with actual feelings, I would have assumed that he was keeping his metaphorical distance for our sake, because he knew how scared we were of him.  
It was dinner the day he first gave us any notice. While we were waiting for the subtle nod, our permission to eat, his hand disappeared under the table, and Sarah jerked into a straight-backed position. Concerned, I tried for eye contact with my twin, her face flushed, lips tightly pursed. He was touching her. The hands that were folded in my lap moved to clasp hers, and she all but clawed at my palm.  
I could hear a very gentle creaking of motion, the Priest eating nonchalantly, like his left hand wasn’t stuffed down my sister’s pants, having managed the button open with impressive ease. Sarah let out a shaky breath, and I could see that she was holding back a moan, knowing that any noise that could give the Father away would end in punishment. I wanted to mouth reassurances, but couldn’t, not with the crowd. Instead, I squeezed her hand and stared at my food, an attempted distraction from the rather embarrassing tightness in my pants.  
The Father finished his meal, then smiled kindly at us both, a signal that we would be allowed to eat. I broke the contact with my sister to eat some of the stew, and she did the same, her motions shaky and not very accurately coordinated. She ate slower than me, and I – because I wasn’t accustomed to doing things at a different pace than Sarah – slowed my own motions, sipping on the broth gingerly, chewing at the same measured pace as her. She took a drink of the glass of water we were offered, letting out a sing-song hum to cover up the shock of what I knew had to be penetration.  
Sarah was rocking her hips against the Priest’s hand, shaking all over, holding so tightly to her spoon that the fingers around it turned white, then there was a full-body shudder, a relieved exhale, a blissful expression. She had passed off an orgasm as a shiver, and I was unbelievably proud of her, the Father slipping his hand out of her pants and back into his lap as he waited for us, along with anybody else who had yet to finish eating.  
“You’re a good girl, Lilith.” The father said in a casual tone, bringing the fingers of his left hand to his mouth and licking them; in front of the entire crowd, licking the sticky away like some kind of treat, shameless, confident that nobody would notice. Sarah turned bright red.  
“I have a surprise for you, Lilith. After dinner.” He added with a smirk, and I swallowed a bite of my soup, both of us eating at our normal paces again.  
After dinner, the Priest rushed us to his office. The minute we were through the door, like usual, both Sarah and I started stripping our clothing off. When I was only clad in my underwear, I turned to look at the Father, gasping with genuine surprise when I saw him undoing the cufflinks to his shirt, his coat having been stripped away, the black thing around his neck discarded on the floor.  
At my exclamation of shock, Sarah turned to me, then followed my gaze, her eyes flicking with a similar emotion. He undid the first button of his white dress shirt, and despite the fact that I hated him, with every fiber of my being, my mouth was dry and my already awakening arousal twitched. He undid the second button, and Sarah slipped her underwear off, the fabric pooling in a heap, along with her black pants, at her feet.  
The Priest, having unbuttoned his shirt enough to pull it over his head, did so, leaving his pants and shoes on. I supposed it was alright; his choice. His torso was lovely, though. He had muscle definition, thin but still noticeable, the kind of muscle a working man had. A fighting man had. There were scars dotting the tanned skin, jagged and painful-looking. I wondered where he had gotten them, stepping towards him without realizing it.  
My fingers were timid, slowly moving towards him, brushing over his firm abdomen. He was looking down at me with an amused expression, pushing past me. His fingers were tight around Sarah’s wrists, walking her backwards, against the desk. He shoved her onto her back, the female arched over the redwood surface, planted between a lamp and a stack of papers. She was stiff, letting him kiss her neck, then her breasts, slipping his hand into his back pocket. He was rutting against her core through his pants, smiling at the wanton way she was moving back against him.  
“Judas.” He ordered suddenly, and I perked up, waiting for instruction. Sarah was driven a little further up on the desk, yelping, nothing but air under her head suddenly.  
“Take her mouth.” He said, and I shuffled towards the other side of the desk, leaving my underwear behind.  
“Wh-what are yo-“  
“Shut up, Judas!” He snapped, pulling a condom from his pocket. I shivered, looking down at Sarah, who noticed my panic and started shaking.  
“Pl-please don’t do this…” I muttered hoarsely, hoping that he would succumb to reason, that he would understand exactly what he was taking. He was undoing his pants anyway.  
“Why not? You have, incestuous little whore.” He retorted sharply.  
“N-no, I haven’t.” I answered, and his gaze snapped up from the packaging of the condom he was fiddling with.  
“What? You mean…” He gazed down at Sarah like he was seeing her in an entirely new light.  
“You’re a virgin?” Sarah nodded, shakily, and he laughed, the sound making my brain rattle around in my head.  
He fell to his knees. I never thought I would see him in such a submissive position between my twin’s thighs, and, obviously just as surprised as me, she supported herself on her elbows to see where his once-looming form had gone. There was a very ragged, wanton gasp, and Sarah threw her head back, rolling her hips. He was using his mouth on my sister, willing her into another sticky-wet orgasm, and, from the way she was groaning and melting at his touch, he was doing it well.  
I stood on my tip-toes to watch, try and see exactly what he was doing, if it wasn’t just the fact that it was the Father doing it, the psychological stimulation that I knew had more to do with her orgasms than actual physical pleasure. She was rutting against his face, and I could see his eyes, burning with sharp fire, needy and intense, from between familiar legs. He was seeking my attention, I realized, and the thought made my hand travel to the ache between my own thighs.  
Sarah batted my hand away. She grabbed me, brought me to her pink-tinted lips, opened her mouth, and my hips jerked forward. I wanted to see more of him, more of his tongue on Sarah’s clit, more of his eyes, boring through me, but my body refused, and I threw my head back, rolling in and out of Sarah’s mouth gently. She was moaning around me, the noise increasing in volume, her legs wrapping around the Priest, then she came, twitching with the power of her climax, letting out a loud moan.  
The father was on his feet again, applying the condom to his arousal, spitting into his hand and rubbing the added lubrication over himself. I pulled out before he had a chance to push into her, easing forward, letting out a strained gasp. Sarah all but screamed, tensing with pain I remembered, the girl thrashing about on the desk. She tried to push him away, but his hands on her hips were strong and unrelenting, pulling her slowly back on his forward thrust. When he was completely inside, he waited, Sarah looking up at me with teary eyes, mouth hanging open, nothing but whining breath leaving it, even though I knew there was a plea behind her lack of ability.  
“Take it.” He snarled at Sarah, who whimpered, and I looked pleadingly back at the Father. He was still waiting for her to adjust, which I was relieved for, and Sarah’s breathing calmed.  
I realized suddenly that this meant he had both of our virginities. I wasn’t sure why the thought made me ache for attention, why I was rocking softly in my spot. There was a subtle nod from the female under us both, and the Priest slowly pulled back, then thrust forward a bit harder than I would have liked. The noise that left Sarah’s throat was absolutely delicious, though, and the way it melted together with the Father’s pleased grunt shot pleasure up my spine. He was moving at a steady rhythm, every thrust punctuated with a high-pitched moan from Sarah, whose mouth was hanging open, looking so inviting and puckered and familiar.  
“G-go ahead, Judas. Fuck her face.” The Father ordered, and I obeyed, sliding past the soft lips, feeling a tongue flicking against me, her throat relaxing at the back of the wet cavern.  
I couldn’t help myself. I was thrusting faster than I intended, but Sarah wasn’t protesting, so I kept on. It was arousing and terrifying, the way that the Father was staring me down, though I wasn’t sure what he was demanding of me. His hand snaked down Sarah’s bare front, disappeared behind the arch of her back, which was highest at the waist, and she twitched with the beginnings of an orgasm. I pulled away and she let out a wet cough, greedily sucked in air, then moaned raggedly. He shuddered, pulling back. I hoped he was done, that whatever he had experienced had brought him to the edge.  
There was suddenly a ball of hate in the back of my throat, what he had taken from my sister, from me, the general disdain of him bubbling up. I was glaring at him, forgetting my sister, forgetting my need, just glaring. The Priest had a smug smile on his lips, noticing that I was challenging him with my eyes, that I was showing my hate.  
“What, Judas? Are you jealous of me? Did you want to be the first to fuck her?” He leaned down, pulling Sarah so that her breast was in reach of his mouth. He maintained eye contact the entire time.  
“There’s a condom in my jacket pocket. You can use it.” I stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed, then scrambled to the coat rack, stuffing my hand into the pockets desperately. It was plastic and almost sharp at the edges, softer near the middle, but right then, it was life.  
“Get on your back, Judas. Lilith, go ride him like a good slut.” He demanded, and I obeyed, laying on the floor and struggling with the wrapper of the protection.  
Sarah was at my side, tears in her eyes, but there was a somewhat blissful expression behind the apparent alarm. She took the thing, unwrapped it, then rolled it on for me. I was shocked, watching her slender form straddle my hips, slowly ease down. I arched my back, moaned, panted. It was an immeasurable kind of pleasure, tight and hot and Sarah’s.  
I was vaguely aware of the father kneeling behind her, too focused on the way my twin was moving: slowly, with a pleased, pained expression on her face. I rolled softly up to meet her downward motions, freezing when Sarah’s face was suddenly an inch from mine. The Father had shoved her over, his hand tangled in her hair, her expression pained. She clung to me, moaning shrilly into my ear and forcing my hips off the floor.  
“Wh-what’s wrong?” I asked softly, and she struggled to regain her breath.  
“H-his fingers are…” She let out a high-pitched whine.  
“They’re i-in my…” I huffed, realizing that the Father was intending on taking two virginities.  
“Kiss.” He demanded, and we did, messily, greedily, both of us moaning into it. I let my hands wander, finding the Priest’s cupped over her breast. She suddenly tensed, broke the kiss, and braced herself.  
“You’re a real whore now. How is it that you went from virgin to whore in one day?” The Father muttered with a mock kind of affection, Sarah whimpering.  
“I only wish I could have had your mouth first. You’ve let your brother fuck that plenty of times, haven’t you?” He started thrusting, and I was terrified because she gasped and tightened around me.   
I shut my eyes, opening them again to Sarah’s face, her half-lidded emerald gaze, mouth hanging open. I rocked upwards into her, and she whined, trying to move back on me. She was riding us both suddenly, scratching at my chest, gasping with pained thrill. It was so much unlike her usual noises, the distinction of her tone like an aftertaste.  
He was moving, I could feel it, the way she jerked when he was in, and I tried to mirror his pace, speeding up when I was close. She came rather unexpectedly, and it was suddenly much more slick, tighter, hotter. I followed after, feeling Sarah pull off of me then move back against the Father. He was at her ear, and she turned, biting his lip. I was in an orgasmic haze, barely feeling Sarah as she was turned around and fucked quickly. The motion slowing then stilling.  
“Good job…” He praised, standing and moving towards his bedroom. He disappeared behind his door, and we soon heard the shower running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Junket, who I would link for you in this note, but I don't know how, and I'm too lazy to learn. It's an easy-to-remember name, and you should read the stories on that profile.


	8. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There might be allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote chapter 8, and it was awful, so I deleted it and rewrote it and it was awful again. I don't like the number 8 at all, it has killed several of my stories, so there will be no chapter 8. This just happens to be in the eighth spot. Ahem.

I was awoken with hands on me. They were on my waist, shifting me off of my side and into a much more wanton position, my face and chest pressed against the soft sheets. The hands were on my hips, slow, soothing motions; the Father must have been trying to keep me drowsy. It was working, every touch a combination of a needy spark and a soothing calm, every nerve on fire.  
I felt something soft on the bridge of my nose, wrapping around my head and being secured behind it. I opened my eyes, met with nothing but light through red fabric, distorted and blurry. The hands had moved to a much less innocent place, running from my ass, up my back, then around to my chest. I tensed when there was a slick finger at my entrance, relaxing again when there wasn’t any friction.  
My eyes snapped open, and I started to struggle, out of the haze of sleep. There was a hand on my hip, one pressing into me, two more on my shoulders, holding me down, another one under me, teasing a nipple. I tried to listen for life, hearing heavy breathing, my lack of sight and the panic welling in my stomach making it impossible to count them. One moment there were twenty, another just four.  
“No…” I tried, not sure why my voice was slurred, why I couldn’t lift my arms to try and bat them away.  
“I b-belong to the Father, you can’t...” There was the hope that, if the Priest was there, he would find the attempt so noble I wouldn’t have to, or perhaps my attackers would think before touching their leader’s property. The hands didn’t stop touching, the stranger behind me adding another finger.  
“What was that, princess?” A worn-sounding voice tried from before me, lifting me by my hair so my voice wasn’t muffled. I was glad for it, still wishing I could see.  
“I belong to the Father.” I repeated with a croak, trying to increase my volume. He must have heard it, dropping me back down again. I realized that it wasn’t the Priest’s bed, his smell vacant from the sheets, which were coarser to the touch than I was used to.  
“Yes, you do…” The one behind me rasped, starting to move his hand quickly, hard. I cried out softly, not really sure if I was in pain or not.  
“’S why we took you.” It made sense. If I was his prize, they were going to make me useless.  
“Okay.” I said simply. If they wanted to ruin me, make me useless to the Priest, I wasn’t going to protest.  
The hands were suddenly gone. I was helped into a more upright position, the blindfold pulled off, men all dressed in work uniforms and looking malnourished staring at me in disbelief. I flipped onto my side, closing my eyes and waiting for the yanking of my hair, the pain, the shame and self-hatred after I enjoyed myself even though I didn’t want to. It still never came, and I glanced at them, unsure.  
“W-well?” I was even more surprised to see what looked like nauseated guilt on their faces.  
“We thought you… The last whore he had requested it. You get fed better than anyone else here.” The man at my front, who I assumed was the alpha, explained.  
I was busy rubbing my face into the sheets, relishing the way it felt on my skin. I realized that I had been drugged, feeling their eyes on me like crawling insects. I didn’t mind, was incapable of minding, and, surprisingly, didn’t mind that I didn’t mind.  
“He needs to see Vox.”  
“Okay. Where’s his clothing?” I felt fabric hit me, opening my blurry eyes to see my usual uniform. I sat up and started slowly pulling it on.  
By the time I was done buttoning my shirt, moving to put my shoes on, I was tugged to my feet and paraded out of the dim room we had all been in. I toppled over, the hallway spinning and the floor rushing out from under my feet. I didn’t care, rolling onto my back and laughing raucously before being heaved over a rather large male’s shoulders. I watched my hands sway as I was carried, rushing off of his form and into a chair suddenly.  
There was a woman standing by a window. There was nothing in the room but the chair I was in, the chair she must have been in before, and strings handing from wall-to-wall, pictures hanging from them, taped and tacked all over the room. The walls were nothing but pictures and messily written Post-it notes, my eyes finally landing on the female.  
She had long black hair, down to the middle of her back, with a frayed quality, like it was damaged beyond repair. She was tall, almost lanky had she not possessed a demanding kind of grace. She turned slowly, and I was struck by her icy blue eyes, her sharp jaw and lovely features. She was the Priest, in essence, only of the other gender and seemingly younger.  
“Hello, Anthony.” She said, my eyebrows furrowing.  
“How do you know my name?” The Father had refused to let us use our real names after designating his own.  
“I am the Voice. You are useful to us. You’re the Father’s whore, aren’t you?” She ignored my question, but I supposed it was alright, nodding.  
“I would like for you to do something for us.”  
“What?” I asked, sounding more like an excited child than a concerned, terrified captive.  
“We need you to kill the Father.” She answered, her chin rising just a bit. I knew it wasn’t about the people she would be helping, but about a personal vendetta. I laughed, leaning over in my chair, too overcome with the humor of the rather humorless situation to answer.  
“What’s so funny, whore?” She asked sourly, the men standing around me tensing, but not half as much as they would have if it had been the Father and not Vox.  
“You’re his sister?” I asked, and she turned red with rage.  
“Fine. If you’re not going to cooperate, my dogs will have you.” I could tell from the tone of her voice that she wasn’t throwing me to actual dogs, and that my guess was wrong, yet close.  
“Daughter. You’re his daughter.” I was awed by the prospect, and the woman turned towards the window again, expanding her chest to breathe deeply.  
“I am not his child. Monsters don’t have children.” She answered, and I understood, sitting back in my chair again.  
“I’ll do it. Anything you need me to do.” I said before Vox could let her emotional mind overpower what must have been a very strong logical side. I just hoped it would be enough to keep her from returning me to whatever painful fate the workers surrounding me had in mind. I had the chance to count them – there were eight.  
“Does he ever kiss you?” Vox asked after a long, tense silence, and I thought for a moment. We had before, so I nodded hesitantly. The woman handed me a small metal case.  
“Take the pill with the yellow stripe before he uses you, and keep the other one in your mouth. When he kisses you, break the pill open, and it will poison him, but you’ll be immune.” She explained, and I pocketed the case without question. With the Father gone, both my sister and I were free.  
Three of the men who had attacked me led me home. We were outside of the Monastery, to the West, where the back entrance was located. None of them spoke the entire way, only acknowledging me when the drugs were too much and I stumbled, catching me before I fell. I stepped into the massive stone building through a small steel door, surprised that there weren’t any guards in the hallway that it led me to.  
It didn’t take me long to find the courtyard, but it took real effort to scale the stairs, though none of the guards seemed all that surprised by what must have looked like exhaustion. They had been told to ignore us, after all. The first thing I was met with when I opened the door was my sister’s frightened eyes, then the Priest, who was holding her on his lap. The last thing I noticed was the gun against her temple.


	9. Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony's punishment for breaking the rules.

Chapter 10: Rules

I was sober instantaneously. He had my sister, my only reason for living, and she looked just as terrified as I felt.  
"Do you know the rules, Judas?" The Father asked in a smooth tone.  
"Y-yes..." I croaked, only half of my mind working on a way to get her out of his hands, to Vox, where she would be safe. I was too frightened to keep my mind off of the glistening contours of the gun, though.  
"What is the first rule?"  
"Follow your directions." I answered mechanically.   
"What is the second rule?" He asked, Sarah whimpering when he pulled her closer.  
"St..." I couldn't go on, realizing what I had done, that I had failed my twin.  
"Say it!" He shouted, and I was surprised that the room didn't shake with the sheer energy in his tone, the hate.  
"Stay by your side." I said faintly, my voice cracking.   
"Very good. And what happens when one of you breaks the rules?" I held back a broken sob. It hadn't even been my fault, someone had drugged me.  
"The other twin gets punished." I answered, because the longer it took, the worse Sarah's punishment would have been.  
The Father stood, Sarah staggering behind him as he rounded the desk. The gun was placed in a drawer, and he was looming over me, holding tightly to Sarah's upper arm.  
"Where were you?" He asked, and my chest tightened. I had the chance for freedom, yet nothing was coming to mind other than the truth, which would have probably gotten my sister killed.  
"In the gardens." I answered hopefully, though I was wearing my best game face. He was scrutinizing me closely.   
"Can anyone attest to that?" I nodded even though I hadn't been in the garden for weeks, praying that he would believe my bluff.  
"I'm sor-"  
"I'm sure you are, Judas." He dismissed my attempt, shoving Sarah to the floor.  
"Starvation or the belt, you choose." He was looking towards me, and my blood was suddenly ice water.  
I looked to Sarah, but she refused to make eye contact with me, probably out of anger. It was understandable; he really didn't ask that much of us, and I had failed.  
"The belt." I decided, knowing that it wouldn't do as much damage as starvation.  
He tore her shirt up, my twin's knees curled to her chest in a tightly-wrapped fetal position. The Father's belt clicked as he pulled it off, bending it in half for more leverage, smiling with real glee.  
It wasn't the soft, cutesy kind of beating I hoped it might be, where Sarah had to pretend not to like it. It was the hissing of leather through the air, a sharp crack, a pained cry. He didn't stop until there were lines of bleeding welts along Sarah's back, until we were both broken-down messes. She was sobbing at the floor when he left us, and I gingerly approached, my twin's wailing increasing when I tried to embrace her.  
"No! Y-you... this is your fault!" She screamed, tears dripping copiously down her face. I could hear the Father chuckle with amusement through the door to his room.  
"I'm sorry. It..." I scooted closer and forced her into my arms, her body draping over mine, probably out of instinct.  
"I'm sorry..." I couldn't tell her why I hadn't been there, why I had to leave her alone with the Priest.  
“Shut up and fix this!” Sarah demanded, her eyes sharp, finally finding mine.  
I swallowed thickly and stood on rubber legs, going to the door that the Priest had disappeared behind. I knocked and listened for a moment, the man acknowledging me, telling me that I could come in. The minute I was through the door I fell to the floor, managing not to cry out of sheer panic.  
“What do you want, Judas?” He practically snarled, and I shuffled forward on my knees.  
“Y-you, Father.” I responded, wanting to get back on his good side, pawing tentatively at his recently-polished dress shoes. He turned to face me, sighing dismissively.  
“You want forgiveness.” He corrected.  
“Yes, Father.” My hand moved to his thigh, and he slapped it away.  
“I’m disgusted with you, and you honestly expect for me to fuck you? I thought you were smarter than that, Judas.” The man grabbed a rough fistful of my hair and forced me to look up.  
There was a moment of stillness as he looked me over, hard features melting for a moment into surprise, then back to anger. He let go and turned to his bed, sitting down and pointing to his shoes. I shuffled over and clumsily undid the laces of his shoes, the drugs slamming through my system again, no longer suppressed by adrenaline.  
“You’re high.” He said after a moment, and I froze, continuing with my work after another tense silence.  
“Yes.” I admitted. There was no hiding it.  
“You let me beat your sister for a quick thrill.” He almost sounded proud. I pulled his shoes off and stood to undo his coat.  
“Was it worth it?” I shook my head and held back more tears.  
“What are you on?” I peeled his coat off and started on the button-up shirt under it, pulling the symbol of his priesthood away and setting it carefully on the bed next to him.  
“Morphine.” I guessed, though I wasn’t really sure. Both my twin and I had avoided drugs after seeing what it had done to the people around us, so I wasn’t very knowledgeable.  
“If you ride me, I’ll forgive you.” The priest said rather suddenly, and I immediately dropped to my knees again, pulling the button of his pants through the hole without hesitation, trying to seem eager because I knew how much he liked that sort of thing.  
“Thank you, Father.” I breathed, reaching past his underwear, listening to the pop of gunshots, the guards probably keeping away raiders.  
Before I could get any farther than a teasing hand and averted eyes, there was a knock at the door, the Priest staring at it with confusion. He pushed me away, and I flopped onto my back, whole body suddenly lead. There was a quiet stream of words that I couldn’t make out in a man’s voice, then a low growl from the Priest.  
“She left a long time ago!” The man barked, and I could feel the tension.  
“She’s back. There’s been an uprising among the workers, all of them talking about the return of The Voice.” The man answered, and there was a loud crash.  
“Find her! I want her dead! Feed her to the dogs, make it public!” I passed out as he spoke, glad that I didn’t have to fuck him, knowing that I would have fallen asleep in his lap.


End file.
